Jack McDevitt - Eternity Road

Flojian handed up Plutarch’s Aldbiades and Coriolanus . It was too late for the rest. “I’m with you,” he said. “Let’s clear out.”

But Claver hesitated. “What’s wrong?” asked Chaka. “We’ve done what we can.”

“No,” said Claver. “I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “Listen, how badly do you want to save this stuff?”

They were all cold and they looked toward the doorway. The surface of the water sparkled in the lamplight. “What are you trying to say?” asked Quait.

“There’s no way to know how high the water will go. My guess is that it’ll rise to a point about halfway between the top of the door and the ceiling. If that happens, we’ll still lose most of this stuff.” Many of the volumes that had come up from the lower level had been piled on the gallery floor. “We have to get everything up higher. We have to clear the cabinets up here and put everything as high as we can get it.”

“Orin,” said Quait, “there’s no time to do that. If we don’t leave now, we’re not going to leave at all.”

“I know,” he said. He turned and looked at them and they could see that he was fearful. “Tell me what you want to do.”

Most of the staircase was now submerged. Only the top three steps were still clear of the water. “I don’t want to drown in here,” said Flojian. “Nothing’s worth that.”

“We won’t drown,” said Chaka, “if Orin’s right. Are you right, Orin?”

“Probably,” he said. “But I can’t guarantee it.”

For a long moment, they could hear only the gurgle of the tide. Quait looked at Flojian. “How about if you and I stay?” he said. “Two in, two out.”

“Forget it,” said Chaka. “I’m not going home alone.”

Claver nodded. “No point in my trying to leave, either. I couldn’t launch the balloon myself.”

There were roughly thirty cabinets in the gallery, which housed another hundred or so volumes. The gallery also had an ample supply of small tables. They pushed the cabinets into pairs and mounted the tables atop the cabinets. Then they began the arduous work of moving roughly three hundred heavy volumes onto the tables. They watched the water cover the doorway, submerge the last few stairs, and spill across the gallery floor.

By the time they’d got everything out of the cabinets, and off the cabinets, and piled up on the tables, they were hip-deep. But they had done everything they could.

“It doesn’t seem to be slowing down any,” said Chaka.

Claver folded his arms and tried to keep warm. “It has to,” he said. “Be patient.”

“How long’ll we be in here?” asked Quait.

“Turn of the tide. Six hours or so, I guess,” said Flojian.

They killed all but one lamp. This was Claver’s suggestion. He explained that he didn’t know how much air a room this size would hold, but that the lamps burned oxygen. On the other hand, no one was quite willing to sit in the clammy dark while the water kept coming up. So the single light was a compromise.

They clung together, trying to take advantage of body heat to ward off the numbing cold.

They talked a lot. Most of the conversation had to do with titles they’d seen and how they were going to get everything out of this room as quickly as they could when the water went down. Claver thought their best plan would be to leave everything where it was and return to Brockett. “This time,” he said, “I think there’ll be no trouble about getting a boat.”

“Going to be a long few hours,” said Chaka.

With nothing to do but wait, Quait tried to distract himself by perusing titles. One caught his eye: Notes on the Last Days, by Abraham Polk. He pointed it out to the others. “At least,” he said, “we’ll finally get the truth.”

The conversation wandered. Claver sat silent for almost twenty minutes. Then he said, “I think I know what happened to the first expedition.”

“I think we’ve found out,” said Quait. “They got caught by the tide and drowned.”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Claver. “The tides themselves are too slow. And we know they didn’t try to do what we’re doing.” Claver looked at the lamp and shivered. He cradled himself in his arms and Chaka sympathetically drew him closer to her. Quait thought he saw a smile glimmer on Claver’s lips, but it might have been a trick of the light. “No,” he said. “I think they found all these rooms in the same condition we found this one.” They saw no danger, as we saw none. The corridor was probably dry, so they’re less to be blamed for their stupidity than we are for ours. They broke into the library rooms, one by one. Fortunately, they didn’t quite get all of them. And they began removing the contents.

“There was one situation that was different from the rest, though. When they first came down the stairway into the central chamber, one of the four passageways was blocked by a door.”

“That’s not right,” said Flojian. “All the passageways were open.”

“When we got there, all the passageways were open. That’s because Rank’s people took the door down. And what did they find?’

“The lake,” said Quait.

“Eventually. But first they found another door.” Claver let them digest this, and then he continued. “According to legend, the Quebec came back to this place and tied up. If that’s true, there was a submarine chamber. I think the lake is that chamber.

“Something went wrong. Whatever system they had to keep the water level low inside the chamber failed. Maybe an outer lock got stuck so that it remained open to the sea. Anyhow, eventually the internal ventilation system got old and gave way. Once that happened, once the air could get out, tides began to rise and fall inside the chamber. Now, think about the corridor with the two heavy doors.”

Chaka thought about it and saw no light. Nor did the others. “I suspect it was designed so that one door had to be dosed before the other could be opened.”

“Why?” asked Chaka.

“Because if both doors are opened, we get the effect we just talked about. The water tries to match the water level outside. It rises or falls. Whatever.”

Quait still didn’t see that it changed anything. “So you’re saying they got caught in the rising tide? But you said earlier the tide’s too slow.”

“I don’t think they got caught in the tide. Not that way. If I understand Knobby’s story, the disaster happened more or less during high tide. But if the submarine chamber had broken down, the water would rise and fall each day with the tide.” He looked at Chaka. “If that were so, what would the condition have been inside the chamber when they broke through the second door?”

Chaka saw Quait’s eyes widen. “It would have been full of water.”

“Yes,” said Claver. “They wouldn’t have experienced the leisurely six-feet-per-hour rise or whatever this is we’ve seen. An ocean would have roared out at them. Trapped them all. Drowned them before they realized they were in trouble. Except perhaps for the one man who was up on the landing, hauling books.”

Flojian’s hand touched Quait.

“Not his fault,” said Quait.

Flojian scooped up a handful of water, and let it drain away. “He’d have been directing operations,” he said. “He’d have held himself responsible. For the death of six people. And the loss of everything here.’

For a long time after that no one spoke.

“At least we know,” said Chaka, finally. “Maybe now we can put it to rest.” Her breasts rose slightly as the water pressed upward.

“I don’t think this is working,” Quait said.

Flojian nodded. “We know.” he said. “But it’s starting to look as if nobody else ever will.”